


Strong Hands, Gentle Hands

by HungeringForHunkles (3HobbitsInATrenchcoat)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Oral Sex, Self-Insert, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, soft vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25989622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat/pseuds/HungeringForHunkles
Summary: You and Stan Pines have been together for a while. It's a rainy summer day and that lends itself nicely to a peaceful yet energetic time.Stan/AFAB Reader
Relationships: Stan Pines/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	Strong Hands, Gentle Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HunkleJunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunkleJunk/gifts).



> This is a gift for Hunklejunk on Tumblr, who was having a rough day so I wrote them some tooth-rottingly fluffy smut. This is the first time I've ever written self-insert fic so I hope I did it right.
> 
> This can honestly take place any time in the timeline of the series. I was imagining it is probably earlier on in Stan's life, but it could also take place after the show. Just imaging it's a day when Stan has the whole place to himself for some reason. Mullet Stan or Sea Grunk Stan, pick your favorite Stan for this ride. ;)
> 
> If you want some background music [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fK1y1xCa1u0) is what I was listening to the entire time I was writing this.

Rain drips off the slanted eves in front of the kitchen window as you stare sightless out into the treeline through the gray haze of a summer storm. The past week had been the busiest in a long time, busload after busload of tourists in a never-ending stream... but now it's Monday, the one day out of the week that the Mystery Shack closes its doors to the public.

Stan says it's because it costs more to keep the lights on than potential customers bring in, but you know from personal experience that its actually so that Stan can get some rest and repair the more fragile exhibits from the ravages of small children throughout the week. You'd left him still asleep half an hour ago and come to the kitchen for breakfast only to end up where you are now, clutching a cooling mug of tea in both hands.

The hazy atmosphere matches the foggy way your brain is not quite awake yet, an unspecified static overlaying your thoughts in the early morning air. You're so deep in your own mind that you don't notice that Stan has come into the room until he's right behind you, wrapping a warm quilt around you with his arms and tucking his chin into the crook of your neck.

“Hey, doll,” he says, deep voice rumbling right into your ear. “Missed you this morning.”

You smile softly and lean back into his embrace. “I came out to watch the rain. Nothing quite like a cup of tea and rain out the kitchen window to start the morning.”

There's a warm chuckle and his breath tickles across your chin. “Morning? Look at the clock, babe, it's well past morning.”

You do and are surprised to find that it's mid-afternoon. The two of you must really have slept the day away... you remember falling asleep before Stan had resurfaced from wherever he goes at night and only barely waking when he crawled into bed beside you. What time had that been? You decide you are better off not knowing and instead turn in his blanketed embrace to press a gentle kiss to the side of his jaw.

“Good thing we're closed for the day then, dear.” Wrapped up as you are you can't return the hug properly so you settle for burying your face against his chest as he stands to full height. He chuckles again, and you can see him in your mind's eye staring out the window much as you were a few minutes earlier.

A few moments of peaceful near-silence pass, only the background track of pattering rainfall disturbing the room. Stan steps back, hooking a crooked finger under your chin and drawing you up for a gentle kiss. “I think it's a soup kind of day, what do you think?” he says, apropos of nothing and it takes a moment for your brain to catch up that he is asking what you want for lunch. When you realize you grin up at him and stand on your toes to press another kiss against his lips.

“You make the soup and I'll make us some toast?” you ask, shaking off the blanket enough that you can clutch it around your shoulders like a cloak, leaving one arm free for toast-making.

A smile quirks at the corners of Stan's mouth. “Toast sounds good, babe. You're gonna burn yourself though if you make it like that.” Digging in his pockets for a moment he produces a large safety pin. He peels your fingers away from the blanket and pins it instead, stepping back and motioning for you to spin around so he can admire his handiwork. Satisfied, he turns to the business of making lunch.

The two of you have been together long enough that the dance around the kitchen is a familiar one. You're peacefully quiet as you step past one another to open cans of tomato soup into a battered pot and put buttered toast covered in melty cheese into the old oven. Once the food is ready you both sit at the worn table, sounds of rain still a steady background to the day.

You watch Stan carefully peel the crusts off his bread before dunking them in his soup and he freezes as his eyes meet yours. A myriad of thoughts flicker in his eyes before the corner of his mouth lifts and he holds out a piece of crust for you. You could just take it but... you lean forward and eat it out of his hand with a mischievous smirk and note with some satisfaction the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Your smirk widens into a grin as you return to your own soup and toast, sliding a bit of crust across the table at him to replace the piece you ate.

When you're both done, soup warming you from the inside out, Stan takes the dishes to the sink. He stands staring out the window much as you were earlier, seeing everything and yet nothing. You come stand beside him, pressing your still blanket-wrapped form into his side.

“Got any more plans today, babe?” He says without looking away from the window, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and drawing you closer. You shake your head and hum a negative before letting out a startled gasp as he turns and scoops you up into his arms, quilt and all. “Good, because I think we should go back to bed.” You let out a half-hearted protest before wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling a lazy kiss onto his jaw. His rumbling chuckle vibrates through your body and your grip tightens ever so slightly.

Stan's arms are strong as he carries you through the shack, up the stairs, and back to your shared bedroom. He carries you as easily as you've seen him carry some of his larger exhibits and it is exhilarating to know that despite his strength he is a careful, gentle man.

You hold on tight as he closes the door with his foot, only letting go as he bends to deposit you on the bed. He turns away for a moment and fiddles with the window, opening the curtains and sliding the panes up so the fresh smell of the rain fills the small room. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watch the muscles of his back bunch and flex as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it in the general direction of the laundry hamper. The taunt muscles draw your gaze down to his waist and ass, disappearing into his ever-present “around the house” boxers. Even in those baggy cotton boxers, the man could command a room with a few choice words. But here he is, all soft smiles and bare skin meant just for you.

He turns and his eyes twinkle as he catches your wide appreciative stare. “Like what you see, doll?”

“Always,” you say and pat the bed next to you. Stan obliges, crawling onto the bed before rolling onto his side and resting a hand on your opposite hip to roll you to face him. He drags the hand up your side, pulling your quilt cloak off and shoving it onto the floor before cradling the side of your face in one large hand. You bring your own hands up to rest in the curling coarse hair on his chest, his breath hitching as your nails lightly scratch against his warm skin. His fingers shake slightly as he leans forward and presses a kiss against your forehead, continues trailing kisses down the side of your face, lingering along your jaw as you try to turn your face to catch his lips with your own.

Stan's chuckle shakes the bed as he rolls a bit further to gently pin you against the mattress, finally slotting his lips against yours. You sigh into the contact, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and returning his kisses. It is slow, easy contact set against the backdrop of the whispering rain outside. Stan doesn't push, only firmly presses his lips against yours tongue occasionally darting out in a maddening tease, the hand not on your face sliding up the outside of your leg and settling warm on your hip. You try to roll up into him for some friction but he just chuckles and holds your hip steady with one hand.

He can hold your entire body still with only the pressure of a single hand, and that is both terrifying and incredibly arousing.

After a few long, languid minutes you tip your head back just enough that he gets the message. With a hum he presses a few more lazy kisses against your lips and drags his own lips down to mouth against your throat, pausing every so often to nip softly and lave his tongue across the pink mark. His hand has left your face and wandered down to make quick work of the buttons of the shirt you had tossed on to sleep in the night before, a faded and softly worn one of his own that reaches halfway down to your knees.

Stan draws back to take in the sight of you spread out beneath him: skin pinked with arousal and wearing nothing but that old disheveled shirt and a pair of comfy panties. You weren't planning on spending the day in bed so it's nothing fancy... but Stan has never been a picky man. You smirk as his gaze trails down your body and he swallows hard.

“You're gonna be the death of me someday, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough but fond. His hands fall away from the last button to land on your knees, gently pulling them to the sides. You watch him bite his lip in thought as he stares wide-eyed down at you like you haven't been in this position many times before. With a fond smile you reach forward and rest your own hand on top of his.

“Now who likes what they see, dear?” You feel your eyes squint in amusement and he snorts out another breathy chuckle.

“Cheeky,” is all he says as he slowly slides his hands down the insides of your thighs, lightly rubbing a thumb over the growing damp spot on your panties before slipping his fingers around to your hips and lifting you upward like you weigh nothing. You squawk a little in indignant protest but that is quickly lost to a sigh as Stan leans forward and starts trailing the same lazy kisses from before down from your knee, inching closer to your center with agonizing patience. Every few moments he pauses and looks up at you from underneath _unfairly long_ eyelashes and you feel your breath stutter. You squirm, trying to encourage him to go faster but he only holds you a little more firmly. Again.

It seems like an eternity before you finally feel his warm breath ghost through the sodden cotton of your panties. He pauses and glances up at you before leaning forward and mouthing at the damp fabric, never breaking eye contact. You feel a helpless moan punch through you and your legs twitch as you scramble to lay a trembling hand on his head. He chuckles and that is all the warning you have before he slides the panties down with a smooth practiced motion and leans back in, burying his face in the course hair surrounding your mound, tongue pressing firmly against your aching clit.

“Oh, fuck.” The words fall from your lips and are swallowed up in the sounds of the rain outside and the wet, satisfied noises coming from between your legs. Stan shifts you just a little to prop you up with one hand and then his thick fingers are joining his tongue. He flicks the tip of his tongue experimentally against your clit before sliding a finger through the slick of your arousal and pushing in. Your moan of encouragement is not ignored as he draws the finger back out and starts up a slow but steady rhythm

 _He has big hands_ , you think distantly as you hear your own voice crack in a begging sob. You feel his grin against your thigh right before he wraps his lips around your clit and _sucks_ while crooking that single maddening finger just right. Another sob catches in your throat as you feel your slick spilling over his hand and your cunt clenching around his finger. You pant bonelessly, his finger joined by a second and still working you open as you clench your hands in his hair and drag him up for a kiss.

He tastes like your own slick but you don't care as you slot your mouths together. His fingers are still curling inside you and you're seeing stars on the edges of your vision as your toes curl in the lingering aftershocks.

Using your hand in his hair as leverage, you drag Stan's ear close to your mouth. “If you aren't fucking me into the mattress in the next few minutes...” You trail off, letting his imagination do the job for him. You can't help but laugh breathlessly as he scrambles for the side table, fumbling the drawer open and grabbing the first condom he lays his hands on. He throws a cursory glance over the packet to check the expiration date and then tears it open with his teeth. He's reaching down to slide it over his dick when realization hits and he swears in about three different languages.

Your breathless laughter breaks into sobbing guffaws as he drops the condom on your bare stomach and struggles out of his boxers. They hit the opposite wall with a muffled “thwap” but Stan has already turned back to you. He slides the condom down his dick with a shaking breath, reaching above you to grip the headboard with one hand as he lines himself up with the other.

With a little grin and a wiggle you get your own feet under you and tilt your hips upward in an effort to be helpful. Stan's amused chuckle breaks into a low moan as he slides in, your own slick and his spit easing the way. The headboard creaks under his hand as he grips it hard and you hear him trying to keep his breathing even and slow.

You have enough of your faculties back to reach up and cup his face in your hands. “Just go for it.” Your voice sounds breathless in your own ears, but a nice orgasm will do that to a person.

Stan's answering hum is somewhat strained but he twitches his hips forward experimentally, grinning as you gasp and wrap your legs around his waist. “I'm trying to make the love-making match the mood, hun.” He gestures at the window before tipping himself far enough forward that he can press his lips in the sensitive spot right below your ear. “But you are making that awfully hard.” Stan is not a small man by any means and you feel every inch of his length and girth as he draws almost completely out of you before slowly pushing back, face a pinched mask of concentration and near-painful arousal. He does it again, impossibly slower, and you squirm against him.

He bottoms out, mouth hanging a little slack, eyes looking a little glazed. You roll your hips to get a little friction and he gasps like he's been punched, hand dropping from the headboard to land next to your head. He licks his lips and you see the idea cross his mind seconds before he follows through, licking an obscene strip across the pad of his thumb before cupping one of your breasts in his hand and swiping the wet thumb across your nipple.

Ignored before now, the sensation on your nipple is overwhelming and you keen, back arching and driving yourself further onto Stan's dick. He groans low in his throat and then gives up all pretense of going slow. He gives your breasts a few more gentle squeezes and then tilts back onto his knees, grabbing your hips and dragging you with him. Legs spread apart for support he holds you up with two broad hands spread across your lower back and fucks up into you with his face buried in the side of your neck. You feel him kissing breathless lines onto your jaw and hear him muttering nonsense praise into your ear. _Beautiful_ and _Darling_ and _God you're so tight, fucking hell_ all blending together into a incomprehensible mutter of his gravelly voice.

You feel yourself tightening around him again and he groans loudly into your neck. Your body starts shaking as the warmth of your orgasm washes over you like a wave, extremities tingling and vision going blurry with the force of it. A sobbing moan leaves your throat of its own accord, a blend of Stan's name and a string of begging pleas. You feel yourself start to sag, but catch yourself. You have to take care of Stan before you can tap out.

Stan's movements are getting shaky as he swiftly approaches his own climax, and his arms – strong as they might be – are starting to tremble. You manage to move your hands from where they had been clenching crescent circles into his shoulders (when had they started doing that?) and put them on either side of his head, pulling him to where you can see the glazed over, punched out look painted across his face. You lean your foreheads together, not having enough motor coordination left to manage even the sloppiest of kisses.

“Stan,” you manage to gasp out, whole body trembling with the aftershocks. “Stan please, please come for me, babe? Can you...” He lets out a long, low, growling moan as his whole body jerks once, twice, three times and then stills, trembling as you feel his dick pulse inside you with the force of his orgasm. He crushes his mouth to yours and you fall to the sheets in a tangle of limbs, helpless laughter breaking out between the two of you.

After a few moments Stan pulls out and rolls off of you. You feel him sit up for a moment and hear the soft noises of him tying off the condom and chucking it in the direction of the garbage. Then he comes back, wrapping an arm around your waist and drawing you back into his chest.

Your eyes drift closed as you feel him twitch the sheet up the bed and over you both, wrapping you in a private cocoon.

“Go to sleep, doll.” He murmurs softly against the back of your head. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

You fall asleep to the sound of gentle summer rain and the warmth of Stan Pines pressed against your back.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it. It has been a long time since I've written smut, so I hoped it turned out ok.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment! I love yelling about how much I love some Grunks (especially Stan).


End file.
